


Midnight Distractions (Or Close Enough, Anyway)

by Kemmasandi



Series: Wizards in Disguise [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, TF characters modified to fit HP universe, crossover AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2AM or thereabouts and Rutherford is going to get a break whether or not he wants one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Distractions (Or Close Enough, Anyway)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [microraptoria](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=microraptoria).



> Microraptoria sent: _"Jazz/Ratchet -- Harry Potter AU because there's an HP AU for every fandom and I'm feeling silly."_

* * *

MIDNIGHT DISTRACTIONS (OR CLOSE ENOUGH, ANYWAY)

Rain tocked against the clouded glass window, faint thunder rolling down the valley. Rutherford squinted down at his Herbology notes and tried to figure out if that was an f, an s, or just a particularly contrary stray drop of ink.

It was roughly 2AM in the Ravenclaw common room. He didn’t dare check the exact time, just in case he’d fallen asleep there in the chair between the window and the fireplace and not realised it. He was working on an essay comparing the features of three different varieties of rosehip and their efficacy in treating backlash burns. Not the most inspired of subjects, but one close to his heart, so to speak.

The bronze embedded into the skin of his back between his shoulderblades itched; he wormed a hand down the neck of his shirt and absently scratched it.

There was a noise on the stairway up to the girls’ dormitory, as if someone young and foolish was attempting to sneak down to scare the hardworking seventh-year. He ignored it as long as he could, then turned to level his best glare at whichever miscreant was about.

Best-laid plans, and all that. His growl turned into a shriek halfway out of his mouth; he flung himself backwards and narrowly missed cracking his head against the stone window fittings as Yasmin deposited her tiny should-definitely-be-sleeping self in his lap.

Impish brown eyes crinkled in silent, desperately stifled laughter. “That was the best reaction  _ever._  Thought I was on the staircase, did you?”

Rutherford hurriedly shoved his quill and ink bottle out of the way. His essay was eighteen hundred words long, just two hundred short of the required count. If it got ink spilled all over it at this stage he thought he’d just about shrivel up and die, regardless of the possibility of purging spells which might or might not take the already-written words away with it. Yes, better to be safe than sorry.

That done, he took a deep breath. “What – on  _Earth_  – do you think you’re doing?”

“Practicing projection charms,” Yasmin said promptly. “I threw my footsteps back into the stairwell while I was sneaking up on you so you’d think I was further away than I really was. It worked, too.”

“Yes, I see that,” said Rutherford, his shoulders slumping. Fourth-years – the perfect combination of youthful innocence and wicked experience. Yasmin was the worst of them, really she was.

 _I rather think she learned from the best, don’t you?_  the voice in his head that sounded oddly like Orion reminded him. Way back in their own fourth year, he and the lanky Hufflepuff, his best friend despite being sorted into different houses, had found and escorted a tiny lost first-year to her classes. Said tiny first-year had latched onto them like glue.

Rutherford had complained, at first, about not being able to get rid of her. Nowadays, though, he had to admit that deep down in the darkest recesses of his bitter overworked mind, he didn’t really want to.

"Aren’t you tired?" he settled for saying. "You’ve got Creatures first thing in the morning."

"I’ll be fine, man," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Aren’t you? You don’t have - what is it? - Herbology until two o’clock. Can’t you finish this in the morning?"

"Double Potions from nine until eleven," Rutherford sighed. "I don’t know that three hours will be enough to write  _and_ edit.”

"Oh, come on, I’ve seen you do twice that in two hours," Yasmin grinned. "Sprout loves you. No way she’s going to give you anything less than a B+."

"I’m glad you have such confidence, but I’d like to be absolutely certain," Rutherford said dryly. "Besides which, I’d be getting so much more done if you weren’t here to distract me."

A less supremely confident being might have been hurt, or insulted by the dismissal. Yasmin simply opened her eyes wide and said, “Oh, right. Sorry ‘bout that.”

"It’s alright," he grunted, pulling his essay back and scanning the page for spelling mistakes. At this stage of the night it was unlikely he’d catch any, but one may as well try…

Yasmin hopped up, and the blood flow returned to his legs abruptly. He bent to rub them, wincing, and she said, “Good luck. I hope you get a really good mark.” 

"Thanks. Have fun in Creatures, if I don’t see you at breakfast tomorrow."

She saluted, grinning, and turned on her heel, disappearing up into the girls’ dorm.

Rutherford shook his head, and tried to concentrate on his homework again. Somehow, it was even less inspiring than before.


End file.
